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Operation: N.O.T.I.C.E.-M.E. (Chapter 2)
Breaking the Rules Two days passed slowly for the poor boy. He was shaking every so often in response to the consistently low room temperature as he lay on the floor, but he constantly reminded himself that it was better than suffering in the heat outside of the building. Still, no matter how hot the teenagers said it was or how much they complained about developing sunburns, he yearned to feel the warmth of the sun and bathe in the light. The very idea of that brilliant fireball gave him goose bumps followed by a rush of pleasant memories of playing outside; it made him smile. Before he realized it, hours had flown by and now it was dusk. The only way he knew was thanks to another teenage boy who asked for the time when he switched posts with Chad. “Dude, it’s seven already?” the tropical boy exclaimed, “I must’ve slept in longer than I thought.” Chad slapped his arm and walked away laughing: “You were at the beach all day, Allan! Eight hours of surfing has gotta have filled your brain with sand.” With that, he left and then the ex-operative rolled over and stood on the bench – he’d discovered that he could see out the barred window when he did so. He noted that Allan was far more casual and distracted than the retired supreme leader, so he hatched an escape plan. “Excuse me, my good man,” he called to him. The teenager peered through the bars and asked him what he wanted, so he continued: “May I use the restroom?" “Can you hold it, little dude?” he replied. “I highly doubt it…” He pretended to look distressed until his guard bought it: “Okay, but go quick.” Then he unlocked the door, opening it slowly. The boy pushed him aside and made a mad dash for the front door screaming, “FREEDOM!!” Right before he turned the knob, however, he was yanked off his feet and hung in the air by the scruff of his vest. Cree walked back to his cell and threw him inside, giving Allan a scowl for letting him out. “For that little stunt, you’re not eating tonight,” she shouted at the prisoner. He cried out sadly and pleaded for her to reconsider, but she didn’t budge – all she did was storm away from his cell. Desperately he yelled after her, “Do you want me to die in here?!” Again he received silence as his answer; he felt his heart sink. . . . “Oh, I gotcha now!” “Nuh-uh! You’re goin’ down, Numbuh 650!” She and Numbuh 641 were playing a wrestling video game and it was a close third match. Each had won a round, so the last one was the tiebreaker and neither was prepared to lose. In a flurry of combo moves and action sounds, player two was KO’d – Numbuh 641 rejoiced and danced in his seat while the girl next to him threw down her game console and became extremely annoyed. She moved her eyes to her teammate and said, “Shut it.” Then she got up and left the room, cursing in Korean. In her room on the other hand, Numbuh 652 couldn’t forget Numbuh 19th Century’s hurtful words from three days ago. In fact, she was curious of his whereabouts now that he was no longer a Kids Next Door member. She picked up her P.I.P.E.R. (Phone In Pipe Emergency Radio) and tuned it to the moon base’s frequency channel. “This is Numbuh 652 of Sector R requesting to speak with Numbuh 86, please,” she stated. “This is Numbuh 44 speaking. Hold on – I’ll get Numbuh 86 for you.” Then she waited a few minutes; when someone finally picked up on the other side, it was Fanny Fulbright, better known as the head operative of decommissioning. “Who is this an’ what do ya want?” she shouted in her unmistakable Scottish accent. Like every time before, Numbuh 652 flinched in reaction to hearing it. “Um, I’m Numbuh 662 – I mean, 652, sorry,” she stuttered. “Well, whadd’ya want?” Numbuh 86 exclaimed. “I was just wondering…” she replied, her hands fidgeting, “…what happened to Numbuh 19th Century after he was decommissioned? Like, where did he go, because I don’t think he really has anywhere to go and -” “His whereabouts is none of your business.” “I’m making it my business then,” she put her hand on her hip. Instead of complying to the higher authority like normally, she gathered up her courage and stubbornly demanded, “Tell me where he’s been taken.” There was a pause between them, and then Numbuh 86 contemplated her request. “Hmm…alright, I’ll track his last coordinates, but you tell NO ONE! Is that clear?” Numbuh 652 pulled her legs up to her chest, whimpering, “Yes, ma’am,” in a squeaky tone. Without another word, they ended transmissions and she waited for her receiver screen to show the set of coordinates. When the little dots began to create a path, all seemed normal at first – he was dropped off close to Sector V’s tree house – but her concern grew as the dots went away from his original destination, turning into an unfamiliar building that was operated by Father and a number of teenagers working for him. She gasped when the last dot – which was a large red one – stopped and remained in a small enclosure within that building. She knew immediately that he was in trouble. “Oh my - he needs help!” she cried, jumping up from her bed. She ran out of her room and into the main chambers where she found Numbuh 666. He was reading a gothic comic book until she caught his attention by coming in so frantically. “James!” She exclaimed, rushing to him. The boy swung his legs down from the semicircular couch and laid back with his arms over the top. “What’s wrong, Wilkins?” he asked calmly. He always called people by their last names or Numbuhs – it was rare when he called her “Nora” or his leader “Johnny”. It was almost always Wilkins, Forsythe, or anything besides their first names. “I was thinking about Numbuh 19th Century and asked Numbuh 86 for his coordinates ‘cause, you know, he’s actually super old and doesn’t have a home or anything, so I was wondering – anyways, he’s in that prison the teenagers set up for Father and I think he needs help!” she had to catch her breath after saying it all so quickly and her teammate said nothing. “So…will you help me rescue him, please?” He shrugged and stood up: “Sure.” Then he turned around and jumped over the couch and went into his room. He returned a minute later with his weapon of choice, the P.O.K.E.R.S. (Pointy Objects Kick Enemy Rears Substantially). “Let’s do this.” The girl smiled and grabbed a handy S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R. (Solid Pine Loaded Artillery Nicely Kicks Enemy Rears) from a nearby table and they exited the tree house through the main elevator. They hopped out at the bottom, found the front door to their leader’s house after jogging down the hallway past the kitchen, and met the cold streets of the night. “Lead the way, girl,” he instructed, scanning the other houses. Numbuh 652 ran across the street and ducked behind a bush – she pulled one of the largest roots from the ground and instantly the entire plant shifted to the right, revealing a secret metal door with “KND” painted on it and a handprint ID next to it. She put her hand on the scanner; it granted access. The door opened and there was an escape pod below which could fit three kids. Then she jumped inside, taking the video game console – the makeshift steering wheel, and beckoned her teammate to follow suit. Numbuh 666 climbed into the seat behind her and buckled himself in, giving her the assurance that he was secure. He watched the top close above their heads and took note of which coordinates his fellow operative punched into a calculator keypad by her right hand. He could tell they were going a ways away from their tree house, but he made no comment. Suddenly the entire contraption thrust forward through the underground passage, gaining speed at a rapid pace. Normally Numbuh 652 would’ve screamed by now, but she was the driver and, boy, was she determined. . . . After about an hour they stopped and unstrapped themselves, parked beneath another metal door to the surface. Numbuh 666 groaned and kicked the top, opening it forcibly, and helped his teammate out of her seat. He looked around and saw Sector V’s tree house – the lights were on and he could see one of the kids standing on a balcony as if they were searching for something. “What is it?” she asked. He kept his eyes on the kid above. “That looks like Numbuh 1 up there,” he answered, pointing to him. He was right for the leading operative wore tan shorts, light brown tennis shoes with white socks, a red sweater, and a pair of dark shades hid his eyes from sight: he had a pair of soda bottle binoculars held up to his face and steadily scanned the streets back and forth. “I bet he’s looking for Numbuh 19th Century.” Numbuh 652 agreed and stood up, holding her weapon tightly in her hands and said, “We’re gonna find him and bring him back to Numbuh 1 ourselves.” They carefully approached the dark building, hiding in the shadows and dodging teenagers guarding the doors. Once they reached the far wall, the girl pulled a fake quarter out of her pocket and tossed it into the light a few feet in front of the teen boy in armour. He grinned and ran after it, unaware that the door was open. The kids silently slipped inside and jumped out of the way of the light – Numbuh 666 glanced ahead of his teammate and counted the other teens that they needed to pass. He tugged her sleeve and signaled for her to follow him as he darted down the hallway; when he hid in Chad’s shadow, she was astonished at how easily he blended into the blackness. Then she caught up to him and pointed to a door across from them that had a piece of red ribbon caught between the hinges. “That’s gotta be his cell,” she whispered. Without answering, her friend slid on the floor and halted on his heels before touching the door. He glanced at both sides down the hallway – there was no one around except Numbuh 652 – so he inserted one claw of his hand weapons into the lock and picked at it until it clicked open. “We’re in,” he said under his breath. The girl hurried to move the door and gasped at the sight of the kid within the room: the poor boy was pale and laying on his side on the right corner. She rushed to his side and put her hand on his shoulder, nudging him to wake up, and after a minute he stirred. “Numbuh 19th Century?” she inquired in a worrisome tone. He blinked and turned over to see her. “…Who are you?” he asked her weakly. She took hold of his hands, afraid of how cold they were compared to hers, and pulled him to his feet; he managed to stand, but she didn’t let go of his left hand. Suddenly they heard a fire alarm screeching, sending them down on their knees covering their ears. “We’ve been spotted, Wilkins! Let’s blow this joint!” Numbuh 666 yelled over the alarm. He yanked the two off the ground and held the door open. “Come on, come on!” Numbuh 652 grabbed the ex-operative’s hand again and ran out of the room with him barely keeping up. Chad appeared in front of them with Allan backing him, but before he touched either child, Numbuh 666 clawed him up with the P.O.K.E.R.S. He did the same to anyone else in their way while his teammate used the S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R. on the teenagers that chased them from the rear. The trio reached the front entrance, but instead of picking the lock and wasting precious time, the dark boy jumped up and delivered a powerful blow to it with his foot – the entire door caved in and crashed to the ground, knocking the exterior guard from earlier into the plants. “Keep running!” he commanded with a glance over his shoulder. He saw the girl and other boy trailing him closely, so he looked ahead and sped up towards the tree house that was merely three houses down the street. When they were one house away, he saw Numbuh 1 and yelled to catch his attention; he disappeared back inside in a hurry once he spotted them. Numbuh 652 watched as a rope ladder tumbled down the side of the balcony and a wave of relief replaced her fear of being captured. Ex-Numbuh 19th Century shrieked, so she turned her head – over him she saw Cree in full black and red armour sprinting towards them and she looked like she meant business. “Hurry, Wilkins!” her friend called out. He was already halfway up the ladder when she got a foothold on the first wrung; she still wouldn’t let go of the other boy’s hand even when he climbed up after her. “Gotcha!” Cree exclaimed, holding the two kids by their feet. Her left hand gripped the boy’s ankle while her other hand held the girl’s, and then she ripped them away from the ladder. “NORA!!” Numbuh 666 let go of the ladder, but Numbuh 1 grabbed his arm and dragged him over the balcony edge. He reached his hand out to his teammate even though he was clearly too far away, so all he could do was watch sadly as she and the other boy were taken back to the prison building. Once they were out of sight, he reverted back to his default expression of dismal angst. “Don’t worry, Numbuh 666,” Numbuh 1 assured, “we’ll get them back.” Behind him, Numbuh 4 snickered with Numbuh 2. The dark operative glared at them and brushed past their leader, looming over the short Aussie boy. “What’s so funny, squirt?” he asked menacingly, bearing his sharp garden tools on his hands. “I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy, but instead you’re all sensitive and baby-ish!” he replied with a joking edge to his voice. He put his hands together, turning to Numbuh 2 and raising his voice to imitate a girl’s: “Oh no, Numbuh 652’s been kidnapped, but I’m too wimpy to save her all alone!” He and his chubbier friend cracked up laughing, paying no attention to the boy they badgered. Numbuh 666’s eyes flared and in a moment’s notice he struck Numbuh 4 in the face with his P.O.K.E.R.S. Everyone else gasped and stepped back from him; Numbuh 4 groaned, holding his hand against his cheek. He and his friends watched his attacker walk into the main control room where the podium and hologram projector were. “What the crud is your problem?!” Numbuh 4 snapped. He watched him turn halfway around to look at their leader. “Are we coming up with a rescue plan or not, Numbuh 1?” he asked bitterly, “Who knows what they’ll do to them in there.” Numbuh 1 held his chin in thought before turning to the black girl at his left. “Numbuh 5, get the entire layout of the teenagers’ prison,” he said. Then he pointed to the other girl in green, “Numbuh 3, help Numbuh 4 with that injury, and Numbuh 2 -” he looked over his shoulder at his scientist, “prepare our means of weaponry and ready the defenses on the tree house. We’ve got kids in need of immediate assistance.” Author's Notes Apparantly the only efficient way to copy and paste the text from a Word Document is to copy and paste every. Single. Paragraph. Individually. Despite the painfully slow process that is, it's worth it - the spacing is beautiful! Chapter 3 is located here. Chapter 1 is back here. Category:Fanfictions Category:Numbuh 404 Files